


White Clover

by Aithilin



Series: Bouquet [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 4+1 Things, Baby Noct is adorable, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, teenage crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 22:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: When he can't sleep, Noct wanders the halls of the Citadel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicrt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/gifts).



> The final in the gift for [Nicrt](https://nicrt.tumblr.com/). And the flower Noct gave to Nyx!

The Kingsglaive had been a fixture around the Citadel for years. The sleek coats a stark contrast from the bulky Crownsguard armour; the small smiles and friendly stories during the downtime of a patrol a welcome change. 

Noct had grown up with the sleek, quiet figures around the corners of the Citadel— broadcast across the news as he watched the exploits of the Kings Weapons defend the Wall, on parade like knights rather than soldiers. He had grown up with the mischievous smiles and exaggerated bows most of the friendlier Glaives had offered to see him smile. He had watched in fascination as they stood at parade rest rather than full attention in the halls; that they carried their weapons like hidden claws rather than open threats and boasts; that they were all too happy to ruffle his hair like Clarus and Cor did, or tell him stories of daemons and battles beyond the Wall when he crept into the little break room deep in the night. 

He had grown up watching the Hero of the Glaives lurk his halls, stop at his doors, offer a little smile and peek in when there was a light. He had grown up with his father’s stories of Nyx Ulric, and the reasons why the man was so comfortable falling into step next to them. He had seen the hero’s wolfish grins and kind eyes. 

And he was thirteen when he realised that the sight of the man made him blush. 

He was thirteen and watching the news with Prompto, only half-listening to his friend’s fannish chatter over the Glaives’ latest adventures. Only half-listening to the familiar wheedling about introductions and meetings and autographs. Only half-listening, because the Hero of the Glaives was whipping around the recorded battlefield in shaking footage and Noct was transfixed on the way he moved, on the way he cut in and out of the fight like he was born to it. 

He was thirteen, and in awe of the man he had seen wandering the halls of his home. Who had always made a point of checking in on him when on duty. Who had always smiled and offered a greeting that was more casual than a stiff “your highness.” 

When he was fourteen, Noct learnt exactly what a _crush_ was. Prompto had been fawning over a pretty girl in their class— had been leaning across Noct’s desk with a wistful smile and blush at every glance she gave him. “Oh, Noct, you just don’t appreciate beauty.”

And he thought of Nyx’s wolfish grin before ducking his head to hide the heat in his face behind his bangs. 

On the nights Noct had trouble sleeping— the nights when his back hurt, when his leg hurt, when the nightmares screamed through his mind— he tended to wander the halls of the Citadel. He would walk the familiar halls, hand moving across the delicate shapes and patterns set into the black stone. He would step quietly through the dark halls, watching the shadows and wondering if the Crystal knew he was awake in the dead of night. If the pulsing, singing thing that lingered at the back of his mind, flooding power and magic through his veins, knew the trouble it caused or the targets it put on his family. 

“Up late, little prince.”

Noct froze mid-step, hand stopped on the delicate wood of a side table, and his eyes widened at the shadow leaning against a grey pillar. He looked down, blushing at the wolfish grin and soft eyes. 

“Trouble sleeping?” Nyx asked, stepping forward with the casual air unique to him; “Everything okay?”

“Fine…” was all Noct could manage, turning away from the Glaive. From the kind eyes and open manner. From the smile and strength he knew was just waiting.

“Oh good,” and Nyx’s hands were folded behind his back, grin still in place. “I’d hate to think you’d be up and wandering because of bad dreams.”

“What?”

“Bad dreams,” Nyx looked hurt in the dim light; “don’t tell me I’m the only one who still has nightmares.”

He couldn’t help but frown at that, eyes studying the Glaive for any sign of teasing, of cruelty he already knew he wouldn’t find. “You have nightmares?”

“All the time, little prince,” Nyx nodded, looking far more serious than Noct remembers seeing him. The Glaive offered a hand, indicating the way back to his rooms. “Mostly about before coming here, of course. Before meeting your dad.”

The casual term— coming from someone in uniform, is a position of sworn protection and service on patrol at the very heart of the kingdom— caused Noct to smile. “You mean of Galahd.”

“That’s right,” Nyx nodded, long stride shortened to keep pace with the prince. “I’m touched you remembered.”

And there was that blush again, that heat raising to the surface as Nyx smiled. “I—”

Before he could embarrass himself— say something wrong, ruin the quiet little moment— Nyx sauntered ahead a few steps to the heavy doors ahead. “You didn’t get very far, your highness. You’ll have to do better to sneak past me in the future.”

He had to smile, to stop at the door— with all it’s fancy florals and patterns shining gold in the low light of the halls. “Is that a challenge?”

“Definitely, your highness. Just don’t tell anyone it came from me, or I’ll be stuck on duty here for months.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It is. Absolute worst.” 

Noct bit back a chuckle, covered the smile with a quick duck of his head as he pushed the doors to his room open. “Then maybe I should make it up to you?”

“Oh, no need, little prince. I can suffer in silence.”

There were flowers set in his room most days— little white things or blue, ones that Ignis had told him were meant to bring luck or health or happiness. They were white, that day. Little puffs of delicate white clover set in a shallow bowl with their green leaves— promises of fields and wilds beyond the confines of the Citadel. He picked one up and offered it to Nyx, tucked it into the man’s jacket decoration, where it gleamed in the dark. 

“Better.”

Nyx’s eyes had widened in his surprise before he broke into a grin. “Much better, little prince.”

“Good night, Ulric,” Noct muttered as he ducked into the room; as he ran to hide his blush and embarrassment in the dark of his bedroom and beneath the covers. 

He nearly missed the soft, “Good night, Noct.”

When the door closed, and Nyx was left alone in the gilded halls with a little white fluff of a flower catching his eye with every step back to his post, he could only smile. He would tell the prince one day that the little clover was something that grew in blankets in his hometown.


End file.
